An Open Letter To The Ex I Still Love

We all know that things like grief and heartache have no healing timeline like general surgery does. You can't heal from heartache in two weeks with the help of medications and rest. It doesn't work like that. Another thing that "doesn't work like that," with the help of medications and rest is grief or accepting the tough things.

It's been six months since the last time I saw him.

Six months ago we were both in different places. Mentally I wasn't prepared for college, a relationship, or anything you wanted to offer me. I was in a different place mentally and I let that interfere with us. I let my mental state determine how things ended. I had no control, and believe me, if I did have control over anything I was thinking, I would have kept you by my side.

So, that being said, here's a letter to you, my lovely ex.

Dear Ex,

First of all, you should know that I am sorry. I am sorry that I let my mentality at the time get in the way of us. I am sorry for making you seem like the bad guy after we broke up.

I'm sorry that I didn't appreciate you and all you did for me. The countless times that you let me come over when I was upset and comforted me when you had your own stuff to do is one of the many things that I took for granted. You spent hours reassuring me that you loved me and that I was beautiful, smart, and capable of conquering the world. All you got in return was tears or "shut up's." I never did truly thank you for that.

I regret not telling you "thank you" more often. I regret not telling you how much you meant to me on a daily basis, even if it would get old.

Now that you know I have regrets about my lack of appreciation and selfishness, you should know that I think of you every day. This is far from an exaggeration. I always think of your laugh and the way you'd throw your head back when you'd laugh. You'd shut your eyes and cackle slightly. Your laugh always brought such joy to me. I never told you that either.

Whenever I see the color blue, I think of you. Your deep sea blue eyes and dirty blue work jeans. The blue tie I bought you for Christmas. Blue is you — it's calm and relieving.

Your freckles that were splattered across the canvas I called your face, remind me of the constellations. There was always something new to be discovered, not in your face, but within you, yourself. Just like the constellations, you shine. You glisten and gleam. Please don't stop. Never stop shining. Never stop letting someone do their soul-searching within you. When I see stars, I see you. You're always there but only in the darkest hours when everyone else is sound asleep.

I think of you everywhere I go and with everything I do. If I were to shuffle my Spotify playlist right now, I promise any song that came on would make me think of you in some way. Do you remember all of the songs we showed each other and listened to in my car? I do.

I also remember the way that your hand felt, molded perfectly into mine while resting in my center counsel. I remember you hijacking my aux cord every time we drove together. You always played stuff I didn't know, the latest music that I couldn't keep tabs on because it was trash.

I remember when we'd hug and always giving you a little squeeze before I'd leave. It wasn't until I couldn't be in your arms anymore that I realized I'd become homeless. I didn't know that, until I couldn't feel your heartbeat as you fell asleep, that my own heart couldn't beat the same.

I wish that I could turn back time to cherish everything we were and we were about to become. I wish that I could have your love again; I'd cherish it forever and I'd never let it go again.

But love isn't supposed to have a happy ending, is it? That'd be too easy. There must be struggles, tears, fights, disagreements, and all in order for you to realize how precious true love is and how fragile it is. The love that I broke with you is so far beyond repair that not even gorilla glue can fix it.

Love isn't supposed to be easy and have a happy ending. Love is supposed to be challenging; love isn't supposed to die. Please tell me ours didn't. If it's not dead, if what we have is something worthy of being revived, then show me. Tell me. Let me know that whats been broken can be fixed.

Sometimes I say that love shouldn't get second chances, especially if someone who messed up wants one. But Lord knows that I want a second chance. A second chance is all I'd need to show you. To prove to you. To cherish you. Just one second chance. I'd give you a million second chances if it meant my heart wouldn't have to be homeless anymore.